I volunteer mainly in the House at Waddesdon as a House Host, but I also help in catering at Christmas and I pitch in on our “Welcome to Waddesdon” days. On those open days I support recruitment and community engagement — the bit where we meet people, put them at ease, and get them excited about joining. I really enjoy that side of things. My husband is a Garden Guide, and I’ll be honest, that’s partly my doing. We’d been talking about mental health and the importance of meeting people, and I worried he wasn’t getting enough social contact. He’s not naturally outgoing, whereas I am, but guiding has been incredible for him. He’ll arrive saying he doesn’t want to go, then come home saying he absolutely loved it. He even musters up the nerve to invite people onto his walk — which is so unlike his usual comfort zone that it delights me every time. He’s seventy-eight, keeps active, roams the grounds after his tours, and sends lost souls to the loos with great authority. He’ll hunt down an answer to a question and try to find the person later to share it. Watching him grow through this has helped me too; there’s a real joy in seeing someone you love light up.
I started volunteering because the job I did before I retired was quite negative. During the pandemic everyone seemed to be furloughed and wondering how to fill the hours; I was very much not. I was a credit manager, working from home, responsible for getting payments in through all that upheaval. I had good relationships with customers, but the role still involved chasing errors and holding people to account. The office culture was, frankly, vitriolic. I wanted something for me — something positive. I came to an open day, did a video interview with Gemma, and said I had a few commitments but wanted to start. I retired at the end of 2021 and made volunteering my first act of retirement in 2022. It was totally selfish at the start. I knew if I didn’t jump in straight away I’d drown in busywork and never do it.
Those reasons have shifted. What I’ve found is a community. I’m an only child; I’m used to my own company, and making friends doesn’t always come easy. I’ve had a yoga group for fourteen years, my first real “girlfriends” space, and volunteering gave me another. I’ve found my tribe here — people who care about the same things and want to give back. When visitors walk into a grand room and freeze — the “what now?” face — I’m one of the first to step in: “Have you seen this?” “Did you notice that?” I want them to leave thinking, “I didn’t know that. I saw something new.” At Waddesdon there’s always something new to notice. Every day is a school day; every time I leave, I’ve learned something — from a visitor or a fellow volunteer.
The culture matters. I volunteer on Saturday mornings and the team vibe is warm and open — the polar opposite of my old office. When a close friend died, the kindness I received here overwhelmed me. Years earlier, when my dad died, there had barely been an acknowledgement at work. At Waddesdon, people showed up for me. That exceeded every expectation.
I’m also a Special Exhibition Host, which lets me focus on one pocket of the collection. Last year it was Guercino — a “forgotten” artist who in his day was as famous as Caravaggio. I went in thinking, “I’ll give it a go,” and came out changed. It was the first time art felt truly magical. Then Mia, one of the curators, gave a talk on the Sèvres porcelain. I’ll admit I thought, “Plates, really?” and then stood there stunned. The work, the firings, the detail — the story in a single object. Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I found myself pulling visitors back: “Don’t just drift through the porcelain — look at this tiny detail… imagine how many times this was fired.” Sometimes you need a nudge to see that an arrangement isn’t just decoration; it’s intent, light, echo, time.
Guercino’s room sat beside George III silver — all bright and glittering — while the paintings glowed in a darker, quieter space. I thought I’d get bored; I didn’t. People weren’t looking for a lecture; they wanted human anchors: How old was he when he painted this? What’s going on in that fabric? Who are the Sibyls? The background stories pulled them in. One man raced through the House and then stood in that room, waiting to be alone with the paintings. I held the door, gave him space, chatted a bit, and slipped away. He’d made the trip just for those canvases. It was special to witness.
All of this has made me consider a History of Art degree. It’s the time that’s tricky. I’m busy — the allotment eats hours, the garden too, I bake and cook, and I help my husband. I also have ME, so by one o’clock I’m flagging. Smiling and chatting sounds light, but it’s surprisingly tiring; I’m often wired and then walloped. I’d love to do more, but retirement has a way of filling itself, doesn’t it?
The learning here isn’t only in the galleries. The team organises trips — we went to the Wallace Collection and had a brilliant time — plus curator talks, coffee mornings, and picnics. Even the drive up to Waddesdon resets me. I leave half an hour: fifteen minutes to the village, fifteen up the long approach. Deer, trees, that smell — the world falls away. The seasons bring their own rhythm: by late autumn we’re all a bit tired; then Christmas arrives and the House transforms. Over winter there’s WardFest — talks and training — and skill sessions from mental health to BSL. Language evolves; we’re supported to evolve too. I love that.
I’ve ended up helping on volunteer open days because someone noticed my strengths. Megan clocked that I’m chatty and happy with a crowd; she asked me to do the first one and I’ve said yes to every one since. One little story: a curated talk had only one booked visitor, so volunteers were asked to attend. I went — it was Mia again, on Sèvres — and there was this man. After the talk I offered to take him to Flights of Fancy and then to Guercino. He turned up at the next volunteer open day. I’d converted a visitor. Months later I bumped into him at a Shakespeare evening at Bletchley; we had a hug. Those crossings delight me. I’ve made mistakes too — I once greeted someone with absolute confidence as if I knew them from Tesco… and didn’t. Mortifying in the moment, funny two minutes later. People are people.
Another memory: a young academic arrived in the Bachelor’s Wing with her wife and spoke passionately about Saint Catherine. She told me things I didn’t know; Luke was with me and we all got stuck in. She later wrote to thank us by name. Not everyone takes the time to write — when they do, you treasure it.
What keeps me coming back is the constant learning, the setting, and the kindness. Driving up the hill, putting on the lanyard, stepping into art and stories — it all builds a kind of sanctuary. The world is a rough place; it isn’t rough here. Here, beautiful things lift people’s days, and we get to help that happen. That means the world to me.
If someone even hints they’re interested in volunteering, I’m on them. “Had you thought about it?” I do ask. We’re not taking more House Hosts at the moment, but there are always other ways in — catering at Christmas, welcome days, community outreach. Would I recommend it? Oh my gosh, yes. It’s friendly, satisfying, and it stretches you. I prep before I walk into a room — my memory isn’t perfect, so I swot up — but that’s part of the fun. You learn, you share, you belong. I leave most shifts tired and happy, which is exactly how I want my retirement to feel.
